Kindling
by suncityblues
Summary: And it's good to know that no matter how old the two of you get you can still not think of any better insults. vaguely Lamont/Worth, Lamont/Adelaide, Worth/Conrad .


**Title: **Kindling

**Fandom:** Hanna is not a boy's name

**Characters: **Lamont, Worth, Conrad (vaguely Lamont/Worth, Lamont/Adelaide, Worth Conrad)

**Rating:** Work safe, mainly.

* * *

Worth likes to tell stories.

And some of them are true and some of them are not but most are somewhere in the middle. Either way they're usually entertaining over a bottle of something cheap even if you've heard them a million times and were present for a good portion, besides.

It's comfort in repetition, maybe. Like eating or work, just something to come back to, something familiar.

And as brave as you want to be, you need something familiar in your life, you need to feel like you aren't always drifting out to sea, always grasping at things but never just having them to begin with. You're just tired to working all the time.

Ten minutes ago you were beating the shit out of each other over something stupid and now you're laying sprawled out on the dirty floor in different directions, legs almost touching but not quite.

He is wheezing and grumbling at the same time and you almost miss it but he says, "feh, you still hit like a pansy" and you laugh and tell him that with his boney girl arms it's amazing he can pick things up let alone do any damage.

And it's good to know that no matter how old the two of you get you can still not think of any better insults, and you still resort to physical violence as a first option and you still like it that way.

You're already sitting up, shuffling your clothes back into position, when Worth finally decides to rejoin the vertical world.

He doesn't say anything because he doesn't need to, because you know what he's doing already. Pulling a bottle of 20/20 out of a metal locker-type cabinet filled with empty bottles and garbage and a piece of discarded clothing or two.

You tell him he really should clean up his place because who the hell would pay to get gangrene? And he throws the bottle at your head (which you catch, thankfully) and that, you suppose, is that.

It's not your job to tell him what to do, anyway. He has his mom for that. And his sister, and now Conrad too.

You certainly don't envy their uphill battles but maybe you do envy the way people seem to care about him even though he's such an unbelievable asshole. Like that guy in high school who didn't really care about what the girls thought of him and so always had them around.

But it doesn't matter. Things are as things are and it doesn't really mean anything at all in the long run.

And then you are drinking and then you are talking and then you are drunk and still drinking and talking all at the same time.

And he's telling you stories starting with "remember when" and you are laughing and even though he's not exactly the best friend in the world he is your best friend in the world and you don't have many left that you can do this with.

That is the curse of being thirty-something except Worth hasn't noticed yet and you have serious doubts he ever will.

And maybe you're a bit sore that he doesn't seem to apply age to anything he does but then you remember you're vastly less fucked up so you call it a draw.

He's still telling the same story about that time when you were maybe teenagers or in your early twenties and you were too fucked up to drive so you decided to hitch-hike back. And how the old guy who gave you a lift locked you in his car and made you watch him masturbate and instead of being scared or freaked out you both thought it was quite funny and Worth got back at him by taking a piss in his back seat.

But you are only half-listening and pointing out the parts that aren't true or exaggerated. He's telling you you're wrong and that you just don't have as good a memory as him, obviously, and maybe you're also a bit dull. So you do what comes naturally and punch him.

But now you're both kind of drunk and instead of really hitting him it's more like lurching forward and palming his face.

And he's calling you an idiot and then he's kissing you and it's a surprise, sure, but it's not a new thing. It's not like he actually has a thing for you, anyway, because you know exactly who he has a thing for, and you think they might actually be happy together for a bit if they would just stop being morons. But it's still not really your place to say anything and so you don't. You kiss him back only a bit because you think that's all it will take, and you're right.

Worth pulls back and sighs.

Throws himself backwards, away from you, so that he's laying on the floor again.

He lights a cigarette. You snort and look at the watermarks on the ceiling. Sometimes you swear he is the dumbest person alive.

You don't need to listen to him to know he's grumbling to himself about a certain vampire, so you just finish off the bottle and go to put it back into the locker with the others. You stand there a minute watching him.

He's not asleep, just exasperated. Annoyed that he didn't feel like molesting you, you guess. You choose to not have an opinion about that, and either way it doesn't really matter.

And maybe that's good because you have your own vampire to think about and what Worth needs is not meaningless sex with a friend but meaningful sex with someone who has a name not starting with L.

Maybe he never will get to that point though, you don't really care.

You have a hard time worrying about him because there is so much to worry about and so little time and really it's pretty much a waste of time to begin with.

So instead you just grab your jacket and say, "Well, I..." and he cuts you off with an obscene hand gesture and you smile because he's still a dick so you know the world is still spinning. Then you exhale loudly and say, "see you later."

And as you walk out of the alley you catch sight of Conrad, who looks cagey at being seen but says hello and is pleasant enough although you know he can smell the booze rolling off you in waves.

Wrinkles his nose.

Adorable.

You put on a half-smirk and say, as you walk past him, "something to look forward to" and don't look back.

* * *

So hello everyone, this is my first time actually writing Lamont properly.

I'm still kind of uncertain about his character, like how he acts and how he thinks, but I tried. There defiantly seems to be a lack of Lamont-centric fanfics floating around and that makes me a sad, sad lady-person.

Oh hey, by the way, judging by how I write/whatever where do you think I'm from? Or where do you think I am?

I'm just curious... and kind of bored...


End file.
